Reminiscence
by dowrath
Summary: Harry Potter revisits childhood memories, unveiling the horror lurking beneath. This is a tragic tale of childhood innocence, mystery, obsession, and, ultimately, culminates in death. (MODERN AU- NO MAGIC)


Harry Potter stared numbly down at his cup of tea, spoon held limply in his fingers as he stirred the brown liquid aimlessly. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece, fireplace crackling merrily, and Harry's spoon occasionally clanked against the side of the teacup.

There was a sudden rustling.

Harry looked up.

"Sherbet lemon?" offered Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him blankly, and the old man sighed. "I understand how hard this must be for you, Harry," he said gently.

No response.

Dumbledore began to speak once more. "Three dead… one of which-"

"_Don't talk about him_."

The clock carried on ticking, time passing by as it forever will, undisturbed by everything else.

"Harry, I know that talking about this unfortunate situation will be painful for you, but you must." His blue eyes were firm yet sympathetic. Harry pointedly looked away, his emotions starting to resurface. "The wound might still be fresh, but that doesn't mean it can't begin to heal. That's why, Harry, I want you to talk about it."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his tongue, his throat constricted.

"Tell me everything. From the beginning."

Harry laughed; the sound dry- humourless- bitter- a sound of agony- of a broken man. A hoarse whisper left his lips:

"_Where do I even begin_?"

* * *

Harry Potter ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Stumbling in his haste, breaths short and rapid, a ferocious pounding in his chest. Heartbeat irregular- a chaotic dance in his ears- tears threatening to slide down his cheeks. Harry only managed to stop himself tumbling face-first to the ground by grabbing onto a nearby tree, heaving himself upright before taking off again.

Heavy footsteps advanced behind him, and the grating laughter of his cousin, Dudley Dursley, suddenly drowned out the pounding in Harry's ears. Harry winced as he nearly ran into a small bush, mentally lamenting having come to summer camp. Sure, he'd met some pretty cool people, and even made a couple of friends, but Dudley's unexplainable vendetta against Harry really put a damper on things.

Hogwarts Summer Camp was a large, national summer camp attended by children aged ten to eighteen. It was renowned for being one of the best camps in the country, and, every summer, hundreds of children would routinely beg their parents to attend. Hogwarts was one of the oldest camps to exist, and many generations had attended the famed camp- including Harry's parents. The thing that made Hogwarts so unique, however, was the house system. There were four houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.

When the new campers were confirmed a place at the camp, they took an online test at home, which determined which house they would be placed in. If the camper decided to attend the next year, they would be placed in the same house as before. All the houses had a different Head of House, and the campers shared cabins with their fellow housemates.

Harry, much to his bewilderment, had been placed in Slytherin; the house of cunning and ambition. Personally, he had thought he would be placed in Gryffindor, as Harry was rather bold, and a fair bit reckless (a fact which his mum was all too happy to remind him of). To make the situation even worse, his Head of House, a dour, hook-nosed man named Severus Snape, seemed to hate Harry's guts. Harry hadn't interacted with Snape all that much yet, nothing but a curt few words, but the glare Snape had shot Harry's way within seconds of their first meeting gave Harry the impression that the man didn't like him all too much.

It was currently Thursday, Harry's fourth day of camp, and the Slytherins were playing a match of Capture the Flag against the Gryffindors.

Dudley had, by some sort of inexplicable miracle, been placed into Gryffindor (Harry personally thought this was only because his cousin wasn't very wise, hardworking, or cunning) and was seemingly intent on making Harry's time at camp as miserable as possible. In a way, Harry was glad he wasn't in Gryffindor, as the thought of sharing a cabin with Dudley immediately sent a shiver down his spine.

Harry ran until his muscles couldn't take it anymore, a painful stitch having formed in his abdomen. Taking care, he slowed down- his footfalls becoming quieter and quieter- until he eventually stopped, leaning against a tree to support himself.

He grit his teeth, trying to ignore the dull, aching pain, and strained his ears for a couple moments, trying to work out whether he'd managed to lose Dudley and his gang of friends.

All Harry could hear was the rustling of the trees, chirping of birds, and other various sounds of nature. A relieved sigh escaped his lips.

Pushing away from the tree, Harry decided to examine his surroundings; he'd been so focused on escaping Dudley that he hadn't had bothered observe where exactly he was headed. The thick trees of the Hogwarts Forest had begun to thin out, and a couple feet ahead of him lay a spacious clearing.

His curiosity piqued, Harry decided to venture forward. There was a lake in the clearing, full of sheets of rippling, dark blue water- mysterious yet oddly enticing- glistening under the waning sunlight. Harry was too old to believe in silly things like sea monsters anymore, but he liked to imagine that there was still something living underwater which had yet to be discovered.

Harry bent down, picking up a stick, and walked over to the lakeshore, surrounded by a large bed of buttercups. He dipped the stick into the water, watching in fascination as it disturbed the calm surface of the lake, leaving behind various patterns. Lifting the stick out, he began to tap the water with it, creating ripples. It was therapeutic, almost magical in a way.

Harry stayed like this for a while, crouched by the water's edge, pretending he was some sort of wizard, and the stick was his staff-

No, that didn't seem quite right…

How about rod? That didn't seem magical enough. Sceptre? Harry didn't even know what that meant, he'd just heard it somewhere before. What about… wand?Yes- that was it- a wand!

The stick was Harry's wand, and he'd use it to defeat the evil sea monster lurking in the lake!

Harry laughed, jabbing the stick in the water with enthusiasm. He'd forgotten that he was crouched right by the water's edge, though, and his body began to sway dangerously forward.

Luckily, Harry's reflexes kicked in, and he managed to fall backwards, landing on his backside with a soft yelp.

That was close…

Perhaps he should find something else to do? Harry didn't quite fancy falling into the lake and drenching his clothes- Mr. Snape would be furious with him! Walking back to camp didn't sound all that appealing either; for all Harry knew, the Capture the Flag game was still in progress, and he didn't want to be chased by Dudley again.

Harry stood up, using the stick as a cane, and turned around. His eyes were suddenly drawn to a large willow tree near the opening of the clearing. It was massive, branches spiralling far into the sky, trunk as wide as a round dining table and- Harry squinted through his glasses (he probably needed a stronger pair)- lots of carvings decorating it.

Could this be the tree his mum had told him stories about? Harry jogged up to it, flinging his stick behind him (it fell into the water with a loud SPLASH), eager to see if this was the famed Whomping Willow. Upon getting nearer, Harry could make out that the carvings were, in fact, various letters- initials.

NB + LM, PE + VD, AW + MP-

Harry quickly walked over to the back of the tree, where his mum had told him-

JP + LE.

Harry stared at the inscription, running a finger over it, smiling softly. His eyes began to feel strangely itchy, moist, even.

Harry quickly withdrew his hand, berating himself for being such a baby. He sighed, but then noticed a crudely-drawn message above where his parents' initials were.

_PADFOOT RULEZ!_

Sirius couldn't help himself, huh? Laughing slightly, Harry went back to the front of the tree, which he could now confirm to be the Whomping Willow from his mum's stories.

The Whomping Willow was notorious for being the largest, most magnificent tree on Hogwarts' grounds, and had used to be a very popular hangout spot back when his parents had attended. Many campers would often compete to see who could climb the highest and would mark the spot they reached with their initials.

It had been nicknamed 'The Whomping Willow' due to the way the uppermost branches always seemed to swing wildly in the wind. Harry hadn't heard any mention of the tree during the few days he'd been at camp, and he suspected that many of the newer campers weren't even aware of its existence.

He stared thoughtfully up at the tree- maybe he could try climbing it- see how far he got. Harry had always had a knack for climbing trees but hadn't had the chance to climb one in a while.

With his mind made up, Harry walked over to the tree, inspecting it to find the easiest route up. He grabbed the highest branch he could, carefully using it to pull himself onto one of the lower branches. The bark dug into his hands slightly, but Harry ignored it, determined to climb the Whomping Willow.

Making slow but steady progress, being very careful to avoid slipping off, Harry eventually reached a point where he couldn't go upwards anymore; he was too short to grab onto the next branch. With a sigh, Harry sat down on the branch he'd climbed to, begrudgingly accepting that he couldn't go any higher.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a set of initials had been carved onto the branch;

R.A.B.

Harry frowned- the initials looked oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite pinpoint why. Maybe it was somebody his mum knew?

Shrugging it off, Harry focused his attention on the view below him. He'd managed to climb unexpectedly high, and the view was breath-taking.

The sun had begun to set, (reminding Harry that he should probably go back to camp soon, lest Mr. Snape get mad at him) the sky a beautiful gradient of pinks and golds, bleeding together to form an ethereal picture; like something out of a painting. The evening air was cool yet comforting. It tickled Harry's face, running through his hair, and making the leaves of the Whomping Willow rustle. If he looked up, he could just about see the uppermost branches waving about wildly above his head.

In the distance, far away in the sky, Harry's eyes landed on a dark, grey cloud. Was it going to rain soon? Maybe he should go back to camp…

But, upon looking down and realising how far down he would have to climb, and remembering just how beautiful the scenery was, Harry decided that just staying on the tree for a few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

It was very quiet out in the clearing, he noticed for the first time. Compared to the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts, it was very tranquil, and the sounds of nature could be heard extraordinarily clearly; from the chirping of crickets to the distant cawing of a crow. Down in the clearing, Harry could spot two large, blue butterflies flutter past, passing over the lake and out of sight.

It's so peaceful…

Harry closed his eyes, relaxing and taking in the ambience, mind calm and blank.

Sleep crept upon him.

* * *

Raindrops began to hammer down, the night sky swamped by thunderclouds. The wind had picked up, the trees in the forest swaying due to the force, damp with rainwater.

Harry jolted awake, blinking in confusion. Why was it so dark? He'd just closed his eyes for a couple of moments!

But no, the moon was bright and full, bathing the clearing in its cool, silvery glow. Realisation dawned on Harry, his stomach sinking unpleasantly- he was going to be in so much trouble! His hands fumbled in the dark for the branch; maybe he could quickly get back to camp and sneak into his cabin without anyone noticing? Although the chance that his absence had gone unnoticed was very slim, just maybe-

The branch was wet.

Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Getting back down without falling when the wood was so slippery was going to be nearly impossible from this height, and that was without factoring in that it was the middle of the night and still raining.

Well, he could either stay stuck up there or risk falling. Sure, the most likely outcome was him slipping and injuring himself, but Harry would rather take that risk than have to stay on the tree for the entire night.

His mind made up, Harry began to shift himself slightly, squinting to try see where the branch below him was located. If he carefully lowered his foot down, then he could likely step down onto it without losing his balance. He slowly turned around, wincing at how damp the branch was; maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. No, he had to get down!

Harry slowly extended his right foot, feeling it hit the branch below. His fingers gripped a neighbouring branch, and he used that to steady himself, lifting his left leg off the branch and pulling the rest of his body down.

That was one branch down… now he just had to get the rest of the way down. He could do this, Harry reassured himself as he descended, hanging onto the branches for dear life. Coming down the tree was a painstaking process, and the raindrops which hammered Harry's skin like icy bullets were doing very little to help, but, somehow, he managed to get quite far down.

Only a few more left…

"HARRY! WHERE ARE YOU?"

Harry jumped in surprise at hearing the shout, and, to his horror, his body began to topple out of the tree. He tried to regain his composure, but it was too late. A shocked cry escaped his lips as he fell downwards, and his left hand snagged on a branch, beginning to tingle in pain.

For the second time that day, Harry Potter landed on his backside.

Luckily, he hadn't been too far up, and wasn't critically injured (as far as he could tell), but it had still been a very perturbing experience.

Before Harry had time to properly registered what had happened, he was interrupted by heavy, hurried footsteps, and the sound of somebody calling his name.

"Harry! Was that you?" the person called from what sounded like the opening of the clearing.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't think of anything to say; was he in trouble? He could see a figure approaching him, an umbrella held above their head to help shield against the downpour. Harry dearly hoped it wasn't Mr. Snape, because the man would surely yell at him until his ears bled. Realising he was still sat here he had landed, Harry quickly scrambled up from the ground, taking a few uncertain steps towards the figure.

Upon seeing the person up close, Harry was relieved to see it was another camper. He was quite tall, probably one of the older ones; maybe he was a Prefect? Or possibly even the Head Boy, although, now that Harry thought about it, the Head Boy was a Gryffindor, and this boy was wearing a green t-shirt, signifying he was in Slytherin.

Harry didn't have much more time to ponder the identity of his mysterious saviour, as the boy was now right in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed in what Harry assumed to be concern.

"Where have you been, Harry? Everybody's been searching for you for the past few hours!" Harry stared at the ground guiltily, unable to make eye-contact. The boy's eyes were like lasers boring into him.

"I- er- I got lost…" Harry muttered lamely.

The boy placed an arm on his shoulder, and Harry resisted the urge to flinch. For some reason, he suddenly felt incredibly on-edge, and he had no clue why.

"Are you hurt? I'm fairly sure I just heard you scream…"

Harry pointedly ignored the dull ache in his left hand. "I'm fine, I was just surprised, sorry…"

The boy hummed in acknowledgement. "We should head back to camp, Harry; I'm sure Mr. Snape is very worried about you." Harry had to repress a disbelieving snort at that.

They began to walk out of the forest, the boy sharing his umbrella. He walked swiftly and gracefully, seeming to know the area very well, and Harry had to strain his legs to match his pace. They fell into a silence, the pitter-patter of raindrops on top of the umbrella and their footfalls eclipsing all other noise. The boy stared straight ahead, seemingly in deep thought.

He really needed to stop referring to him as 'the boy'.

"Er, what's your name?" Harry asked, finally breaking the silence.

The boy didn't say anything for a while, but just when Harry was beginning to think he hadn't heard his question, he answered.

"My name is Tom Riddle. I'm one of the Slytherin Prefects."

Harry, curse his reckless nature, opened his mouth without thinking. "I'm Harry." A second passed before he realised his mistake. "But I'm sure you already knew that, er- you were calling my name and all so…"

Great, now Tom was going to think Harry was some sort of idiot.

To his surprise, though, Tom just laughed. It wasn't a mocking sort of laugh, but rather a good-natured, warm one, which left Harry feeling slightly better about his blunder.

"So, Harry, are you one of the new campers? I don't think I've seen you around here before."

Harry nodded, but then realised that Tom probably couldn't see him in the dark. "Yeah, this is my first year here," he replied.

"Enjoying Hogwarts so far?"

"Yeah- it's cool!"

The conversation died down again, but this time it was because they were finally out of the forest, and nearing the Slytherin cabins.

"We need to tell Mr. Snape you've been found," Tom said, and Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

Fantastic.

Snape was going to kill him.

* * *

After Snape was done making sure Harry regretted ever being born, and his ears were ringing like alarm bells, Harry was finally allowed to go back to his cabin and go to had no idea what time it was, but he had a strong feeling that it was at least eleven, if not midnight.

Harry carefully crept up the stairs to his cabin, his key in his hand. He slowly unlocked the door, praying that he hadn't woken up any of his roommates. Draco Malfoy would probably throw a tantrum if Harry dared disturb his beauty sleep, and Harry really didn't want to cause any more trouble after what had already happened that night. He'd probably go deaf if Snape yelled at him again.

Door finally unlocked, Harry tiptoed inside, shutting it behind him and walking over to his bunk bed, which he shared with a boy called Theodore Nott.

Trying not to trip over any stray belongings strewn on the floor, Harry was about to start climbing onto the top bunk when-

"Potter? Is that you?" came a voice from the bottom.

Squinting, Harry realised that Theodore was sat up in bed, his usually neat, black hair dishevelled.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Harry whispered, hoping none of his other roommates had been woken up.

"No, I was reading," Theodore replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Before Harry could ask how he could possibly be reading in the dark, he noticed the torch clutched in the other boy's hand.

Harry began to climb up onto his bunk, but Theodore's voice made him stop before he could finish.

"Where were you?" he asked, sounding a bit worried. This was strange for the boy, as he was usually very reserved, and didn't seem to care for much apart from his books.

"Got lost…"

Harry didn't receive a reaction, so he just clambered into bed, relishing the way his body sunk into the mattress- certainly a much better resting place than a tree.

He didn't have to wait long for sleep to come.

* * *

**This story can also be found on AO3. **


End file.
